


The Hatchet is Buried Six-Foot Deep

by HepG2



Series: Heroic Ages: The Unforgiven [3]
Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Avengers Prime, Epic Friendship, Family Drama, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury Recovery, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers-centric, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-05 08:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12790965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HepG2/pseuds/HepG2
Summary: It takes a common enemy to unite a splintered team. Following the events of Siege, Asgard seeks the Avengers' counsel. Steve Rogers and Tony Stark come to their aid. There's bickering, Asgardian magic, more bickering, adragonand goblins. Guess there's no place like Earth after all, is there?Just one lousy, uneventful evening, so Steve could fix his friendship with Tony. Is that too much to ask?[Forgone conclusion, obviously. Basically, all the feels that are missing from Avengers Prime. Story is a standalone i.e. not related to Part 1 of the series.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, you beautiful people. Ready for Part 2? Ready for more feels? Ready for MORE Avengers Prime? Because, we can never get enough of that beautiful bromance and... borderline canonical Stony. I hope this doesn't disappoint. Enjoy!

Tony’s temple – his private workshop – has no windows. Located in the basement of the recently renovated and reclaimed Avengers Tower, floor space alone spans three times that of the Mansion. Meaning, it’s spacious enough for Tony to run some of the more specialised, covert flight tests for the Iron Man suits. Kind of what he’s been attempting for the past two hours. He has on the boots and gauntlets of Mark Whatchacallit, and is cartwheeling in space like a starfish bogged down by the Parkinson’s. Three seconds in and he’s plastered to the padded eastern wall, his fifth crash in fifteen minutes. A personal record, not bad.

 

He chucks his safety helmet against the workbench in frustration and lies flat on the floor like a hot mess of bruises and failure.

 

Tony’s temple has no windows, until five years ago when Steve made sure Tony install one in an inconspicuous corner. The window itself is locked and sealed, covered with a neat later of argentum nitrite, so the silver will only clear upon confirmation of Steve Rogers biometrics. Long story short, _somebody_ refused to take a break after working on a project for seventy-two hours straight, and scored an acute angina attack. Steve only reached Tony in time because the door wasn’t fortified and had nothing against the battering ram that is Captain America in all his glorious super-soldier self. They had an understanding. In exchange for a freaking peep window for people to check in on Tony, he would replace the broken door with a fortified one, certified Project Rebirth-proof.

 

Done deal.

 

So, here Steve stands outside of the lab in the corridor at four in the morning, like a moron, _on tiptoes_ because Tony installed the window so much closer to the _ceiling_ that normal windows do. Very mature. Steve’s been watching Tony failing tests after tests piloting the suit, even though he’s dumbed them down to a rudimentary “One percent to boot repulsors, stabilise and stay airborn for five fucking seconds, come on!”

 

The elevator pings and Steve removes his thumb from the pad. The windowpane darkens as he waits for the guest to makes appearance –

 

“Thor?”

 

“Steve Rogers. How do you fare?”

 

Something heavy crashes from within the walls. Steve blinks innocently, and shakes Thor’s proffered hand. “Given current circumstances? About as well as you’d expect. What brings you here? You should be in DC by tomorrow noon for another meeting with Senator…?”

 

“Senator Briggs. The meeting has to be moved to another date. That is why I am here, to ask for a great favour on behalf of my people.” Something _else_ crashes, and this time, it bounces off a metallic surface before it thuds against a… something. “Is everything fine between you and Stark?”

 

“… We’re still working on it.”

 

“Is that why you are spying on him?”

 

“I am _not_ spying on him – this isn’t what it looks like.”

 

“You worry about him.”

 

“… Don’t we all?”

 

A sense of coldness seeps into Thor’s eyes, and Steve instinctively draws himself to full height. The superhero Civil War is still fresh on everyone’s mind, everyone’s but Tony’s, and he finds it so strange for _still_ jumping into Tony’s defence at a heartbeat.

 

Steve turns to the darkened window, and replaces his thumb on the pad. “He’s punishing himself, Thor. For what he did, even if he can’t remember it.” Thor creeps closer to the window, and looks in. Tony is in the _other_ corner, now sporting a busted lip. “The only one who doesn’t remember the War, and the only one who hasn’t moved on. The way he looks at me these days? All the mistakes… He shouldn’t have to go this alone.”

 

Steve doesn’t acknowledge Thor clearing his throat. It’s incredulous, this holding-hands-and-prancing-around-the-friendship-bush after all’s been said and done.

 

“I do agree on one thing, Captain. Stark cannot continue to avoid us forever.”

 

“… I’m working on that, too. Maybe we can bring back the team? Like the old days.”

 

If only everybody can do a hard rest on history, too.

 

The next time Tony falls, he shifts on the floor but doesn’t get up. Steve leans closer to the window, his breath fogging up the glass. Thor peels himself from it. “He needs assistance.”

 

“No – don’t.” Steve’s hand darts to stop Thor by his shoulder. “Let him be.” Which is considerably harder to do. “You mention you need the Avengers’ help? I can gather whoever’s in town for a proper meeting, or would you prefer a private chat?”

 

“I’m afraid that the matter at hand presents grave consequences. I look forward to hearing what everyone has to say.”

 

There’s no obligation to heed his call, but he’s willing to bet that additional chairs may be required at the meeting anyway. Steve nods, and reaches for his cell phone. “In one hour, Thor. I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“It is worthwhile to hear Stark’s opinion on the matter, Captain.”

 

Point taken, and it can be as easy as striding right into Tony’s temple…

 

Steve dials Tony’s number, and waits. He peers into the window, and sees Tony fixing a headset around his forehead.

 

“Steve?”

 

“Tony. I’ll be quick. Thor is here with me, and he needs the Avengers’ advice on something related to Asgard. Can you come?”

 

“I’m…” Tony fiddles with a wrench as he considers. “Yes, I’ll be there. I’m not… I mean, I’m just drawing some schematics.” Steve lifts his thumb and settles against the wall, the window turning opaque once more. “When?”

 

“In one hour. The usual place.”

 

“… Thank you.”

 

Steve cuts the line, and he escorts Thor down the corridor towards the elevator, serenaded by more crashing and clunking of metal on metal. Steve doesn’t look back this time.


	2. Chapter 2

A picture is worth a thousand words, and going on a mass trekking to ground zero of the ruins of Asgard is worth that much more. The Sentry – no, the Void, Bob was long gone by then – did not spare a _brick._ Everything has been turned effectively to rubble, and the Avengers march through the majesty of Asgard now lies in ruins. Thor leads the congregation, but his head is bowed as he holds his silence. Steve and Tony flank him, and they too make no comment, for what more is there to say amidst the smoke and fires?

 

They’re not there for site surveying, Steve realises. Thor knows _exactly_ where he wants to be. So, he follows, all the while from the tail of his eye he makes sure Iron Man is keeping up. Behind them, almost everyone who’s ever carried the Avengers season pass march forth in sombre.

 

A parade for the dead and destroyed.

 

Thor eventually stops before a torn-down chamber, at least, what Steve assumes it used to be. He sees a semblance of a gigantic doorframe and uprooted foundation. Tony lays a gauntlet on Thor’s shoulder.

 

“Every time I’ve had to rebuild this armour, I’ve always made it better. Every time.”

 

… The nerve on him.

 

Steve marches past them and under his breath, he says, “We’ll see.” He heads for the far wall, and is _this_ close to brushing shoulders with Tony, who no doubt has heard those unretractable two words.

 

“We’ll see what?”

 

The fact remains that the siege on Asgard happens because Tony indirectly planted Osborn at a strategic position to strike. The fact remains that even with improvements to newer iterations of the Iron Man armours, Tony isn’t fit to pilot them. James Rhodes is a fine man – no doubt about it – but what are the chances of Tony sitting on his thumbs watching another fighting _his_ war in _his_ suit?

 

“I’m not convinced letting you keep that armour is in the best interest of the country, Iron Man.” Steve is _so_ opening that can of worm. “I haven’t made up my mind.”

 

And Tony’s boot is heavy on the muddy ground. “Oh _really_?”

 

“You _knew_ this conversation was coming.” No, no. This is _not_ how Steve imagines it to go down.

 

“ _Did I_?”

 

“We’ll talk about it at the appropriate time.”

 

“Well, _Captain Rogers,_ or whatever the hell we’re supposed to call you now that you’re the new Nick Fury –”

 

A vein in Steve’s temple pops. “Don’t get on your high –”

 

“I’ll tell you something I _promise_ is true!”

 

“I _knew_ you’d be like this –”

 

Tony plods ahead until Steve can see his own face in the reflection of that scowling helmet. “There will _never_ be an appropriate time to tell me that I can’t have what is rightfully mine!”

 

“Well, look who’s all for civil rights all of a sudden.” The slap in the face is implied.

 

“That has nothing to do with anything –”

 

“Fine.” Sometimes, he wonders if Tony likes keeping his helmet on at difficult times like this just so Steve can gawk at his own angry face in it, while he spews righteous spit at Tony’s face.

 

“So what _you’re_ saying is that these inalienable rights that you were willing to die for –” and that’s where Tony’s voice stutters, but he carries on like he’d never broken down on national TV while failing to deliver a lousy eulogy at Steve’s funeral. “Freedom of power, all that – all of that goes out of the window now that you’re in charge!”

 

“I’m saying that it was _you_ who put this entire country in danger when _you_ let a maniac like Norman Osborn have the _keys_ to your armoury!” Tony had made his bed. And once Steve let the floodgate up, God, there is no stopping it. The fury, the _disappointment_ – “We’re lucky he didn’t nuke the planet, Tony! That could have happened!”

 

“… I let him do what?”

 

“By trying – _listen_! – by trying to get the American taxpayers to foot the bill for your toy box you led this country down a path that led Norman Osborn getting his hands on it.”

 

“That is a _massive oversimplification_ –”

 

“That is _exactly_ what happened!”

 

“I was working for the government! _Our_ government at the time –”

 

“ _You_ allowed this! All of this!” Fuck it all to heck. He _has_ been saving that punch, and if not for Thor inserting his imposing frame between them, as firm as rock and guilt trips them into remembering why they did all the trekking here, Steve would’ve thrown it. He doesn’t have the convenience of hiding his shame behind a metal faceplate – unlike somebody in the vicinity – and he follows Thor and Tony down a flight of steps in brooding silence.

 

 

“This is mighty Heimdall’s observatory,” Thor’s voice booms and bounces off the structures. “This is how the Asgardians travel to all the dimensions of the nine realms.”

 

But, that’s a cosmic level issue staring right back at them. A broken Rainbow Bridge?

 

Tony scouts the perimeter, his gauntlet blinking red where he goes. “It’s very hard to get an energy reading. Asgardian energies are always hard to catalogue. And it doesn’t help that I’m using armour from ten designs ago.”

 

Minus the Thor-speech and mechano-babble, it seems cut and dry to Steve that a portal to another dimension is wrecked, and _that_ screams out loud that it has to be shut. By hook or by crook. Doors open both ways, don’t they? Last he checked, _Homo sapiens_ are perfectly fine with destroying themselves, they don’t need outsider’s help.

 

“Wait –” and Tony is running towards them. His gauntlet is not blinking anymore – it’s a blinding red, a constant, and Tony flings his arm – “ _Steve_!”

 

Then it’s a suction with force Steve has never felt before. Iron Man bumps into his sides a fair number of times, and each time, Steve calls out for Tony and grapples around blindly, hoping to find purchase. All he hears for that hot second is his own screams stuck in his throat, no air in his lungs, and before he finds a footing in the swirls of colours, his knees collid painfully on the ground and the world stills again.

 

“Thor!” Steve’s hand clutches about stray blades of grass. Which are vivid _pink._ “Tony!” Good God. A sky with three hanging moons in the foreground? “Oh, fuck.”

 

This isn’t Earth anymore, is it?


	3. Chapter 3

Steve smells the goblins – Orcs, Gremlins, whatever – before he sees them. Doesn’t stop him kicking ass and taking names. So, here he was passing through the woods in the middle of the night, his footpath illuminated by three giant moons hanging in the violet sky. He chanced upon a dingy clubhouse made of timber and opened the door. He was momentarily taken aback by the size of the crowd, and he stilled his ground – and heart – as some fifty moss green heads turned to face him. He announced his name and alliance with Lord Thor. They might not know some lowly Midguardian like Captain America or Steve Rogers, but surely “God of Thunder” means something in this realm?

 

Nope. Nope, nope, nope –

 

“I don’t want to fight you!” Fifteen, sixteen orcs down and concussed – Steve swings a fist to his left and _that_ is going to hurt – “I just need to know where I am so I can get out of here!”

 

Why won’t they _cooperate_? And that is how he end up standing atop a pile of unconscious goblins. For all the trouble, he still has no idea where he is. Waste not, want not… so he robs himself some chainmail, the largest buckler and the sharpest sword that he can find. It’s not the best getup to wander a foreign land – planet – in, but beggars can’t be choosers, so this is it, then.

 

Steve tumbles out of the clubhouse and hesitates as he peers into the dark. He wonders if heading northward is any helpful, when all of a sudden, the violet sky lights up with a ferocious crack of a lightning bolt.

 

“Thor?”

 

Any slight chance of regrouping with his friends is God given. He bounds towards the impending thunderstorm, and hopes that Thor will still be there by the time he reaches. This land is hostile, if that mini-adventure is anything to go by. Thor, Steve is sure can hold his own against the unfriendly. But, Tony?

 

“Damn it –”

 

He sure hopes that antique of an armour holds enough battery to last this unearthly trip.

 

The thunderstorm eventually subsides, but the scorching heat on the skin of his back intensifies. He does _not_ expect a freaking _dinosaur_ to come charging from the thicket screaming bloody murder as _Tony Stark_ stumble out of the shadows. Steve doesn’t waste precious seconds. The crazies he can deal with later. He pitches his shield at the dinosaur, and follows that up with a thrust of his sword up its reptilian jugular. One more strike into its ugly eye will end this, and just before Steve can take that plunge, the cold mass under his boots vanishes.

 

When the dust settles, Steve is greeted by the sight of a _puny old man_ lying exactly where he thought he had the dinosaur pinned to the ground.

 

“What was this I just hit?”

 

Tony approaches, his unsteady gaits suggesting he’s limping, but he stops a clear distance away from the unassumingly unconscious… man. “Hell if I know.”

 

“Well, it’s done.”

 

“ _Well done_ , may I add.”

 

Steve straightens up and lowers his sword, though he does not return it to its scabbard. He takes one glance southward and _adamantly_ locks eyes with Tony, who is proudly wearing a stupid grin on his face. “… Why are you naked?”

 

“It’s my new armour! It’s see through.”

 

“… Jokes? Really?”

 

“It’s very high-tech.”

 

Hurried stomping and angry hisses gain momentum behind them, and Steve repositions his gears. “Stay behind me.” They have company. And sure enough, they’re quickly surrounded by a picket of goblins, quite unlike the ones he’d beaten up in the clubhouse. As in, these guys are easily twice his height and weight. A rowdy crowd, no doubt. So, Steve reaffirms his grip on the hilt of his sword and he bellows, “Who’s next!”

 

 _Insanely_ , it works. They scamper, which is fantastic, because Tony looks like he’s about to wet himself.

 

“Go put your armour back on. We have to go find Thor.”

 

And that’s their wrap. The hallowed grounds are silent once more, and even the dragon-old-man has taken the opportunity to squirrel away to his hidey hole. Good riddance, Steve says. And he marches back to the camp where Tony and the dragon came from earlier, only to stop midway when he doesn’t sense Tony’s presence behind him.

 

“Hurry up!”

  

Tony lets off a stream of choice words, which Steve promptly ignores, yet Tony still doesn’t pick up the pace, and _that_ begins to grate on his patience. He turns his heels and is about to say something equally witty and childish, only to find Tony half-leaning against a scorched seedling.

 

“… Let me see it,” Steve urges, already prying Tony’s hand that’s clutching at his side. What lies under is a hideous patch of burnt flesh. It looks plenty painful, and it shows – cold sweat beads along Tony’s hairline, and his features are marred by a constant grimace. Steve loops Tony’s free arm around his shoulder and together, they hobble towards the warmth and brightness of the dragon’s hopefully-vacated lair.

 

One of the first things that they walk past is a large slab of cement near the bonfire. It has ropes affixed to all four corners. They’ve been cut loose, and seemed to be conveniently positioned to strap down an adult Midguardian. Steve’s next question weighs down like lead on his tongue. “Anything else you want to tell me?”

 

“… ‘Bout what?”

 

“What else did the dragon and his lackeys do to you?”

 

“I don’t know, the usual roughing up? They’re alien thugs, Steve. Nothing I can’t handle.”

 

“… Looks like torture to me.”

 

“Yeah? Well.” Steve lowers Tony into the lone intact chair he can find in the vicinity. “What else is new?”


	4. Chapter 4

Steve doubts there’s such a thing as OSHA and the NIH in this realm, so no matter how _normal_ that running tap water looks – a pristine stream out of the snout of a stone dragon fountain – there’s no way he’s using that to cleanse Tony’s wounds. The bonfire crackles merrily despite the deadness of night. Steve sees the lacerations better this way. The shallow cut under Tony’s right eye, the bruises along his jawline, a five-fingered marking along his biceps and inner thighs…

 

“Are you alright?” Steve asks, chockfull of sincerity that Tony immediately averts his gaze to a tree stump. “We don’t get this cleaned up, we’re going to face a bigger problem than finding our way home.”

 

“Hmm? Like what?”

 

“Like fighting off alien infections.”

 

“I feel fine. I’m golden. Stop fussing – hey, don’t touch _there_ –”

 

“We should have dinner together when we get home.” It’s about time. Steve smiles at Tony’s look of astonishment. “You and me. We should catch up. I missed knowing what you’re up to. You seem busy, but you don’t tell me anything anymore.”

 

Tony hesitates. “I thought you won’t… I still work a lot, obviously –”

 

“I know.”

 

“… You know.” And something goes _ping!_ in Tony’s mind, Steve can see it, but neither want to comment further on their little game of I-spy.

 

Steve wets his lower lip, and considers the loaded statement he’s about to make. The one he can’t reclaim. He shrugs off his chainmail and the black turtleneck under, and pushes the latter into Tony’s chest. “You have to stop punishing yourself for the War, Tony. It’s not worth it.” Tony obediently puts on the shirt and says nothing, pretending that Steve never said anything either. “We worry about you. All of us. Just let it go?” And the only sign that indicates Tony hasn’t gone mysteriously deaf is when his lips grow thin, and a muscle tick at the side of his face.

 

Steve folds his own hands in his lap. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

 

“Don’t.” And the first tear falls from Tony’s lashes.

 

“How long are you going to blame yourself and stay stuck in there? It’s done, Tony! It’s over! We need you, we need Iron Man in our mission –”

 

“Don’t you see? After all these, after you – _you_ _died!_ – deep down, I _still_ know _I was right!_ Despite the price I paid, if I get to do over, I swear to you I’d do the same!” Tony is inconsolable, and it’s not unlike that afternoon when he forgot to tie his shoelaces. His wet sobs intensify, and his hand creeps back to his sore sides. “I can’t forgive myself. Ever.” He fists Steve’s turtleneck about his heart. “You know how I operate. I can’t tolerate the off chance that some of us come to overstep the institutions that confer us powers – unchecked, unchallenged because we’re supposed to be self-regulatory – _I can’t_. If we can’t accept limitations, we’re no better than the bad guys! _You know_ I’ll do it again, even if it kills me. And _I know_ that you’ll always be there on the opposing side. Nothing has changed, Steve! Nothing! Knowing that it’s only a matter of time before this circus repeats itself…” and Tony grits his teeth so hard, Steve hears them gnashing above the sloshing of pouring water from the dragon snout.

 

“Tony?”

 

“ _…_ This –” Tony’s forehead presses against Steve’s chest as he doubles over. Steve’s throat seizes as panic grips him like a vice.

 

“What is it?” There’s no 911 equivalent to call, no Dr Strange to turn to. Most of the colour has drained from Tony’s face, and Steve carries him to the brink of the fountain. There, Steve sees it. When he lifts the hem of Tony’s shirt and sees a blackish web creeping from the scalded patch of skin, first instinct tells him it’s poisoned. He prays inwardly that it isn’t lethal, that he isn’t too late.

 

“It’s infected. I’m gonna have to wash it. But, this…” It’s alien water.

 

“It’s OK, it’s fine,” Tony mumbles, eyes already sliding to a close. “Do what you have to do. Trust you, Steve. Be OK…”

 

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Steve frees up his left hand, and plunges it into the water. It’s cold, too cold for comfort, but comfort can go take a hike. The next he does manage to extract a wrecked gasp from Tony’s throat that sounds every bit of are-you- _nuts_ – Steve cups a mouthful of that treacherous liquid and gulps all of it in one go.

 

There. Never has anyone shown that size of balls on a foreign planet.

 

His call, right? And thank God that water is water even on this side of the Yggdrasil. He splashes some over Tony’s burn, and slowly but surely, the blackish web ebbs. “Come on, Tony. Stay with me.”

 

“… Shut up.”

 

The best trait of a semi-conscious Tony Stark is compliance. Steve gladly piles the unresisting body over the back of the horse he came riding on, and sidles onto the saddle himself. No GPS, no constellations to guide his way. But, the lightning show over the canopy of trees hasn’t yet subsided, and he urges the horse to head that way.

 

“You should’ve let me go, Steve,” a whisper floats between them. Steve adjusts his grip on Tony once more. “Shouldn’t have rebooted my brain.”

 

“I’m not going to watch you die.”

 

“… I did.”

 

Thunder claps from afar, and with haste, Steve digs his heels into the flank of his horse.


End file.
